Sataday mornin market.

Michael were a bit pissed, an he peeled orf Freda’s arm. “I’m just gooin t’maarkit,” he say. The pigs, they were a screechin and the Auctioneer were rattlin on as he go over the stones ter the ring. He staggered as a coo were ‘it and honked in his lug with its eyes open wild. The smell of that dung whiffed by im and he buried into the crowd and met Joe. Joe’d been in the Cobblers and he was right merry too. They couldn’ hardly hear theirselves speak as th’Auctioneer gabbled, slowd down, said, “Am I bid” and slammed the gavel down on the desk.
Michael, he wanted to pee, but then some ole bor knocked his glasses off as the heifers come down the tunnel. “Blast me, bor” he say, “Can’t see a bloody thing.” Suddenly Joe grabbed him. What’s he a playing of? The side door were open, and Joe pushed im long the tunnel into the ring.
There were a right din and load of cheerin’ and the Auctioneer opened up, “What am I bid fer this ole bull?” “Yew can’t sell me, dammit,” said Mike, but the biddin struck up all round the ring with Mike standing in the straw and muck. Eighty, five, ninety, five, ‘undred, ten, twenty. Come on, he’ll look ater yer cows. Mike checked his flies, looked round frazzled and then there were another mighty cheer.
Freda came up the tunnel. As she came into the ring, she thacked Joe in his stomach with her brolly. He crumpled gaspin’ and coffin’ but no-one cared. Freda marched up to Mike. “Just you stay with me an you woont be sold, you silly ol bugger” she say. “Yis,” he say and stumbled after her outer th’ring. Someone stuck his glasses in his top pocket. “Yew stay wime and don’t be such a silly ole fool,” say Freda. “Yew stay wime and yer won’t get lost” And this is the word of the Lord. “You stay with me and you won’t get lost.”

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